


Diffusion

by AbelQuartz



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Adult Steven Universe, Angst, Angst and Porn, Biting, Conversations, Crying, F/M, Hysterectomy, Infertility, Lube, Marriage, Married Sex, Neck Kissing, Orgasm, Rain, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 04:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21191915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbelQuartz/pseuds/AbelQuartz
Summary: There are several problems you’ll encounter in a marriage. Love, loss, arguments - it’ll all happen eventually. But Steven and Connie have hit their biggest roadblock yet. Some time after the surgery, Connie and Steven open up. To come together again will be the hardest transition of all.





	Diffusion

**Author's Note:**

> Once more, this is one of them Tumblr requests! Commissions are closed, but you can ask for stories you want over on abel-quartz.tumblr.com. Also, please feel free to suggest tags. There are way too many to choose from and I can only hope I did them justice.

Connie held the button down until her phone buzzed and turned black.

“Was that your mom?”

“Yeah. I told her we were about to go out.”

“Oh! Do you want to?”

She shrugged. Steven watched as his wife stretched over and put her phone on the nightstand. He kept his eyes on her as he thumbed to the back of his novel and found the bookmark. Over on his side, the reading light turned everything amber in its little sphere. With the rain outside and the autumn afternoon drawn long, the lamp was like a sun in the mist of Beach City’s rainy atmosphere. 

Steven leaned back against his pillow, and wondered if it looked more orange because the stormy weather was making their bedroom blue. Connie, he thought, was the bluest of all. The man placed his book on the nightstand and clicked the light off. 

One of the lessons he learned before marriage was that you couldn’t heal a mood. No amount of magical spit could cure a broken heart or a broken spirit. Another lesson, one on which he still had to work, was how to resist trying anyway. Watching the woman turned away from him was torture, and she knew he would be hurt, and it hurt Connie to hurt him, and the guilt pushed her away more, and the spiral pattered on as ceaselessly as the rain.

Their whole room was blue now. A blanket and a comforter together were enough to keep them warm in loungewear, tees and shorts, and Steven slid under with a deep sigh. When he reached over, Connie lifted her arm. The invitation was just what he had asked for. Steven turned his body and pulled his wife into the comfort of the little spoon. He thanked life and genetics every day for his size, and thus for the ability to comfort Connie physically. If he felt like he could protect her, then they could get through anything.

“She wanted to talk about adoption.”

Steven felt his entire body twitch in irritation. That explained the mood.

“But, I really don’t want that conversation. My brain is just…” Connie raised her right hand and waved it vaguely until she brought it back to rest on Steven’s across her chest. “Fuck it. It’s going to be the only thing on her mind whenever she sees me. Like, I know she’s thinking about that all the time now.”

“You just need to tell her that. You deserve to see her without feeling guilty,” Steven said.

“It’s not...guilt. I don’t know what it is.”

“It’ll come up. When you’re ready, you’re ready.”

Shame, perhaps. Steven secretly hoped that as he got older, he would be able to develop more Gem powers, and be able to sense the emotions of others to help them before helping. It would get overbearing in public, probably, and it might drain him as well, but Steven wished he could have something even vaguely like that in situations like these. Talking about feelings was like opening wounds sometimes. Connie opened up to him more than anyone in the world, but she was still human. 

Warm blood concurred. Steven squeezed his left arm between his wife and the mattress, curling himself around her. His right hand drifted to Connie’s thigh, and he let his fingers form to the curve of her muscles, soaking up the heat of her body. Every inch of her form was an extension of her soul, the soul he fell in love with on the same beach outside their window so many years ago.

Her hair was growing out again. Today, after Steven combed and dried it, she had left it all down, and it rested against the man’s neck and torso in silky coils. He turned his head and lifted his chin to brush softly against Connie’s neck, using his stubble like a brush to expose the skin. Each stroke of his spiky hairs against the woman made her shudder, and she stifled a whimper as her husband scraped. When she was exposed, he pulled Connie in and kissed her, just with the tip of his lips pressed against her. He knew he could make her melt if he bit, if his little spines dug into her body any more. Steven knew that Connie could sense his teeth restrained behind his lips, the tips of the hairs hovering like daggers. But he only kissed and sighed and kissed again.

When they had made the first visit, Steven had kissed her on the cheek firmly, promising that it would all be okay. When the doctor came in, Connie had sucked in air and hunched over, as if even the sight of her provider was enough to cause the pain to flare up again. The woman assured Connie that they would do all they can, but that they should keep options in mind for fertilization.

And then they had been out of time. The news came one day before Conniefell out of bed, curled up on the floor and screaming, clawing at her abdomen in manic pain, still crying like an infant as Steven picked her up and put her in the car and drove her to the hospital where they cut her open and took everything out. There had always been benign growths, not even cysts, pieces of Connie’s body that had been familiar to her since she was a teenager. The doctors looked at Steven and marveled out loud how they could expand so rapidly inside of her. There was nothing that they knew of that could cause such growth. 

Steven knew. Connie knew. The Gems knew, and the Gems had watched from a distance as Steven lowered the mechanism on Connie’s bed and got on his knees, unable to form any words as he begged for forgiveness. A year of healing had been easy for their marriage, as their love could survive any pitfall. Connie’s body was only occasionally supplemented by her husband’s power. She had to teach him to touch her again. Whenever his skin met her body, Steven wished she couldn’t feel his fear. 

But they could both feel the fault. There had to be something to blame, someone to scream at. Steven could never lose his temper with Connie’s choices, with a woman who had been a girl who had never thought that her otherwise flawless body could be brought down by magic. In like kind, Connie had nothing to blame Steven for, for doing his best to mutually conceive, for not knowing how his powers could scar her womb, for the wrong magic appearing involuntarily inside of her like a raincloud in a perfect sky, a lightning bolt in the healing storm. There was nothing to forgive.

Steven didn’t want to feel bad about that right now. It was over two years ago at this point, and Connie could and would still kick his ass any time she wanted to. Right now, it seemed that all she wanted to do was be here and shuffle and inch deeper into the mattress with little chuffs, her body escaping from the prickly touch. The man let his head loll back down before he pressed his lips together to trap a yawn. His whole body shuddered as he released stress, clenched and unclenched, letting their bodies recalibrate. The rain was their only witness as they settled into their bed.

When his left arm stroked Connie’s abdomen, the woman twitched uncomfortably. Steven could tell immediately that this wasn’t the same kind of reaction as the stubble.

“Connie?”

“Hey. Just thinking.”

“Mhm?” Steven said, nudging her shoulder with his chin. “What ‘bout?”

“Feel around there some more.”

Steven was more than willing to oblige. Under a healthy, hydrated skin, Steven felt the solid layer of abs; Connie’s strength was unquestionable. The man hummed as he let the breadth of his fingers swing from hip to hip before he pressed down, sliding his thumb into her waistband right at the groove of her thigh. 

“There’s no scar,” Connie murmured. “Isn’t that weird?”

“I - I think that was me. Sorry.”

“No, I…”

Connie rolled onto her back towards Steven, shifting her hips over and shimmying up into the crook of her husband’s arm. Steven let his thumb slide out. He could feel the blanket rise as Connie stretched out her legs. Staring at the ceiling, the woman sighed deeply. 

“It’s not like I want to be reminded of anything,” she said, “but it’s like there’s nothing there. And if it was there, then I could look in the mirror and say, hey, that’s where I had that happen. That’s what’s wrong with me. I don’t even get that. Everything is invisible, and I have to remind myself that there’s nothing in me anymore.”

Steven pulled himself upright immediately. He tugged his arm out from underneath Connie and propped himself up, and with the fingertips of his right hand he turned Connie’s surprised face towards him.

“There is  _ nothing _ wrong with you.”

“You know - I didn’t mean it like that - ”

“Connie. I love you.”

“...I love you too, Steven.”

“No, I love  _ you _ .”

There, a single tear, the only one he wanted to shed right now. Steven watched the blurry image of his wife as she paused, then smiled, then faltered. Of course she knew what he meant. The man stroked Connie’s cheek in a slow circle, feeling the heat beneath. He let his fingers drift down, and Steven ran them over Connie’s torso, up to the hem of her shirt. Connie closed her eyes as Steven dragged his palm over her body until it rested on her sternum. He pressed in to feel the heartbeat. He too closed his eyes. Steven felt the rhythm pulse quickly, then ease into something slow, something calm, something to match the woman’s breathing as she succumbed to her husband’s pressure.

“I want to live for you,” Steven said hoarsely. “And I need you to know that I already know what’s inside of you and I know that nobody can take that out.”

A soul, a spirit, whatever - Connie knew he was being poetic, but the sentimentality was sincere enough to make her turn her head and sniffle out a laugh. Steven’s hand twitched under Connie’s shirt. The stir of his own soul moved his hand. Connie’s subdued sounds fused together into that familiar gentle gasp as Steven cupped a breast. The whole cup fit in his hand. He rolled his wrist in a circle as he finally caught his breath, blinking out the last tear.

“You ass,” Connie murmured.

“Body and soul, strawberry.”

“You know back when I had it done?”

“Mm?”

“I had this stupid irrational thought that, well, that you wouldn’t be attracted to me anymore. And it was so fucked up, because - ”

“Because since when do  _ you _ worry about that?”

“Exactly! But it was about... It was because I was just scared of losing you. And my mind was in such a place where it was like, I felt like you shouldn’t be with me. Steven, I still don’t feel like I deserve you sometimes. Now - now I can kick myself into shape because you helped me back. But there was still...resistance, you know?”

“You think I don’t still feel the same? I have the most beautiful woman in the world lying next to me, and she’s talking about feeling this way, and what can I do except…”

Steven let the pause linger. Connie turned her head curiously. His descent into the kiss was just long enough for her to brace herself, and she met his lips with a true smile. The man could feel her motions beneath, and relief washed over his heart. Connie’s motions were her own, her own volition and her own need. The resistance of her mouth over his was as smooth as paint being stirred, honey dissolving in tea. He curled his lips against his wife’s and breathed in, and their lips broke with a shared sigh. 

“What could I ever do except love you,” Steven whispered.

When their lips touched for the second kiss, Connie threw her arm over and grabbed Steven by the front of his shirt, tugging earnestly. He obliged, and his tongue pushed past his lips as he pushed himself over on top of his wife. The force of Steven’s body above her made Connie gasp, and the gap was an invitation. The depth of the kiss sent a fresh shiver down Steven’s body. His fists, pressed into the mattress next to Connie’s head, clenched tightly as he forced himself not to crush her. But her hands wrapped around and pulled at his torso, inviting him closed, and her legs curled behind Steven’s as well. Her body was a gravity well. 

He could feel her control, the strange sense of self-fulfilment rising up inside her. After the surgery, they still slept together and bathed together and did all the things that couples did. Love was always present, but not as much the sex. Steven hadn’t missed it when Connie was recovering; her body needed something different. Even now that things were healed, the conversation hadn’t come up. Maybe it had been his own fault. Throughout the process, Steven had treated his wife like she could fall ill again at any moment, like she was a patient. He thought back to the way his touches were so light, his caution present in every motion, and it was his turn to feel guilt. The man raised himself off the bed and composed his mind with a sigh.

“Steven?”

He couldn’t resist that face. Steven saw that perfect brown, the way the eyes shimmered in the shadow of his own body. For the first time in a long time, Connie looked like her old self. The disease had taken so much from her body and their future. If fate had not ruined them, then this afternoon their child could have been conceived. Steven forced himself out with a mental slap, staring down at Connie in anticipation. He had to stop thinking like that. He had to be hopeful.

“I just want to feel close to you again,” Connie said, “the way we used to be.”

“We’ll always be close, Connie. Always.”

“You know I haven’t felt that way. And it’s my - it’s in my head, and - ”

Connie suddenly moved a hand to the back of Steven’s head and pulled it down. He was the strongest human being in the world, but Steven was forced by his wife, and lowered himself to her will. She raised her head and pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes. Steven could feel the energy underneath. He could sense the arousal, the anticipation of sex and whatever hormones were buzzing under the surface. When he closed his eyes, he could also feel the first tears as they squeezed out of Connie’s eyes. They were full of frustration, a fear with which he was horribly familiar. The fear was inside of her.

“I need your help, please,” she whispered. “I need you to help me get out, Steven, I need it…”

They had played like this before. Both of them had asked and offered and begged for each other out of love, lust, unadulterated desire. Steven heard those words and his heart sank because he knew this wasn’t play at all. He could feel Connie’s humiliation, her confusion; he could feel her reaching out in this, her most vulnerable moment. What did she need? To feel useful, Steven thought. To feel like she could love his body again, and he could love hers in return. There was an underlying sexual attraction that was trapped underneath a surface of doubt and pain. The pain was shared, but the desire was shared in equal measure. As soon as they became adults, Steven had felt it. How could it ever go away?

Steven pushed into the mattress. His hands sunk down as he brought his legs forward, thick thighs pushing up against the back of Connie’s legs. The man sat up and raised himself into a kneeling position with the blanket falling over his back. Connie had to let her hands fall away, but when she looked up, Steven met her gaze with as much of a smile as he could manage. He did his best to look serious and manly for her. The woman let her arms curl up into her chest as she caught her breath, watching her husband as if he was on a tightrope.

With Connie’s legs spread against his, Steven reached down and pulled them together, straightening them out like he was helping Connie exercise. The man held them delicately, pressed together and resting against his upper body at a right angle to the bed. His hands gripped the musculature softly, and with his fingertips Steven ran down the inner seam of Connie’s thighs. He watched her bring a hand to cover her whimpers, and he felt the skin raise in little bumps in the chill of the bedroom air. She was always so warm.

Her shorts were part of an old pajama set, soft gray cotton with a loose fit. Steven’s left arm secured Connie by her legs and lifted, and his right reached down to pull the waistband from the back. Steven had to wonder if she appreciated the control here, or if she felt patronized, weak, immobilized by her own emotions as much as she was by her husband. Now it was his turn to feel cold. His knuckles tightened around the shorts, and he had to stop and lower his head, pressing it into Connie’s calves.

But it only took a moment to center himself again. He could never forget how wonderful she felt the first time, how his fingers sunk into the beautiful brown skin. Everything about Connie was tied to his soul. Steven pressed his face against Connie’s leg and sighed. He opened his eyes to see Connie crying as she watched, her smile quivering in joy. She almost laughed, coughing and tugging at the bottom of her shirt like when they were nervous newlyweds. Her face looked like a perfect drop of amber inside her nest of hair.

“Beautiful,” Steven mumbled. 

His right hand relaxed. With trembling fingers, he slid underneath the partially peeled clothing and rubbed the back of Connie’s thigh. Nothing else could pass his lips.

“Beautiful, my beautiful.”

Energy flowed from those fingers to his heart as he pulled the shorts all the way, up past Connie’s knees and ankles and over her feet. With a quick breath, Connie pulled her shirt up past her face. Steven watched his wife arch her back on the bed and wrangle herself nude. The coldness of the room made her muscles seem tighter, her body as firm as onyx. But she was as flesh and blood as she had always been. Steven ran both hands down the warmth of her legs, then separated them to lie flat on the bed, one on either side of him. His thumbs massaged the crevasse where Connie’s thighs and torso met, brushing up against the coarse little curls of hair in between. Connie reached up to meet his shoulders as he leaned over, his fingers mapping the hills of Connie’s abdomen and sliding over her breasts. When he pressed his body against her, Steven knew she could feel him. She could feel his readiness.

“Steven, hey,” she said. 

“Yes?”

“I’m ready, but I don’t know if my body is. We should get, um…”

“Of course! Yeah, I’ll - ”

Steven knew that this wouldn’t be drawn-out, a slow ride through the day. It was an affirmation, an exercise. Connie didn’t need him to take his time or draw out the process. But her worries were valid, and they couldn’t repeat the honeymoon. Steven smiled at the memory of the evening, their bodies in a warm summer room, with only tongues needed to speed up any processes. Connie couldn’t afford the risk at the moment, and it took Steven no time at all to swing himself off the bed and open the bedside drawer.

The bottle was still mostly full as he held it up. The man glanced down, and his stomach turned at the row of condoms still attached at the seams. He needed to throw those away as soon as he could. He closed the drawer, and wondered when the last time they had actually had sex was. Steven’s focus had simply been elsewhere. It didn’t matter for today.

Connie’s hand reached over to take the bottle from him. He let it go, then lifted his shirt over his head and heard the muffled sound of the lid popping open. Cold air ran over his exposed torso with enough mild ferocity to make him huff. Steven threw the shirt to the ground, then stomped over to the thermostat by the door and turned the dial. When he faced the bed again, Connie smiled at him, one hand holding the bottle and one between her legs, massaging the lubricant in gently.

“Come warm me up, Universe.”

“With pleasure.”

They could pretend to be normal all they wanted. Connie watched Steven as he walked over, pulling at the elastic waistband of his shorts. His eyes swayed over her body; he was presented with the impossible choice of where to focus, as if any single facet was not just as beautiful as the others. Steven shoved his shorts to the ground, wriggling out as he climbed into bed with his wife. It never stopped filling him - that feeling that made him now wrap his arms around the woman and squeeze her; the feeling of his naked body next to his wife’s with no sense of shame or artifice; that kind of love that settled into his chest like a summer storm and beat against his ribs and stomach and turned his words into a shuddering growl.

Her hand moved down - and Steven wished he knew the word for this emotion. They had had their moments of pure eroticism, sex for the sake of sex, an easily recognizable feeling which was enjoyable in its own way. This was closer to lovemaking. As Connie stroked to apply the oil, Steven realized that there was no word for this, but that it was an action: an active resistance to pity. To pity Connie now would be to denounce the strength she had shown in asking for help. She didn’t need that from him, and yet the temptation tugged in equal measure to Connie’s tugging. 

What was the cost? What was the harm? Steven didn’t want to find out. He couldn’t go down that path right now. He had done that as a teenager and he wasn’t about to do that again. The man outlined the physics in his head, forced himself into the tangible world and formed a plan.

“Get over here,” he rasped. “On top, facing me. I want to hold you.”

Quickened breath and heartbeats told Steven that Connie was ready and honest. She moved like kudzu over the breadth of his stomach. Steven could see her back curved against the cool air. Grinding on top of him, Connie stared down with relief in every breath. 

He couldn’t look at her for more than a moment. Steven immediately grabbed his wife and pulled her to his chest, their bodies pressed together chest to chest, human strata. His hands shuddered against the musculature of her back and flattened every muscle that they could find. When Connie moved against him, Steven felt the trimmed hair, the smooth skin, the gentle moisture where she wanted him to go. He wondered what scar tissue would feel like against the organs, whether there would be trauma in the permanence or relief in the aftermath. 

Connie almost moved her hands, but Steven held her down tightly. In their intercourse, there was usually control in equal measure. Now, when he forced Connie immobile, she allowed him to lead, to teach, to guide her along. Steven could never admit that it was all in fear of her expression. There was so much love in his fear, and the actions of his body were so disconnected that it felt like he was moving through ice. His hands separated - one to grasp Connie’s head and hold her head against him in an embrace, and the other to aim himself steadily. 

The oil invited him inside. Connie inhaled sharply as her husband penetrated her for the first time in weeks, skin on skin, no separation. They could not be closer. Steven let the warmth envelop his heart as her body enveloped him in like kind. She was warm, so warm, and he moved slowly against her gasps and pleasant murmurs until he couldn’t move any more.

They were the only ones left. Steven held Connie down against him as he rocked his hips, eyes closed and knuckles white. They couldn’t do this for anyone but themselves. Alone in the afternoon, the little Universe family ground against one another on a bed that was just barely getting warmed up with the house. The man pushed his legs against the bed and felt Connie tight around him. She held herself behind his head and trembled with pleasure. Even without seeing her face, he knew it could only be pleasure. He could read her body with a single finger.

Only the pain was left, and he knew exactly what kind of pain it was. It was blatant, primal, and impossible to ignore again. He wanted a child just as much as Connie did, maybe even more. They each wanted and wanted, reaching over each other again and again, as if love was a race with an ever-dwindling finish line. Maybe on top of him, in the dance of gasps and tensed muscles, Connie could let that line go. Steven had to close his eyes as he forced himself to keep up the rhythm. There would be no baby. There was only Connie. He could want all he wanted, and nothing more would come than what was here right now.

If he was happy, Steven could have made his hips float, effortlessly pushing into his wife. The weight of his own mind made each thrust strenuous, but there were no human limits to his strength. The weight of Connie’s body was merely present, a necessity, a pleasant force he could lift and carry without any effort whatsoever. Even as she dug her hand into his shoulderblade and cried out in pleasure for the first time, he held her all the same. He could always carry Connie.

Her body rocked on top of each motion. Connie followed his lead in the dance, and Steven knew that she believed he was carrying her. No, she knew. She had to know already. Steven held Connie firmly and moved her body along with his hips. The bed creaked like it would shatter underneath. 

Empathetic emptiness, a solitary future - of course she knew. Steven buried his face in his wife’s hair as his motions became tempestuous and purposeful. How long had he been inside her? Time had drifted away like their bedsheets and he couldn’t care less. Steven’s body was telling him what was about to happen, and as soon as he knew then he could feel that same pleasure melting over his brain, physical over mental, seeping into the cracks of his brain. It felt different without a barrier between them. All Steven had to do was let the walls down.

It wasn’t enough for him. He would find someone to talk with, someone for the both of them. He wasn’t ready to unload it all onto Connie as if she wasn’t living through the same thing. There, there was the care he thought he was going to lose. Steven knew he had been crying; he knew he would cry from the moment he pushed inside her. Connie’s hair soaked it all up. He could smell her conditioner, the same scent that had lingered on his hands when he had massaged it into her locks that morning.

But Steven’s hands were trembling now. After innumerable days, his body knew what he was doing, what he was going to do. Connie whispered wordless encouragement into his head. Blood pulsed in jagged rhythms, and his hips slowed in opposition. The flood of warmth shook Steven to his core and overwhelmed him as he came inside his wife. Warmth turned to heat, to tension. Steven pulled the weight of Connie’s body onto him as if she could hold him to the bed and the earth. His mouth reached out to latch onto her trapezius, biting like a wolf into the meat of her muscle. Hair stuck to his tongue. If Connie cried out from the bite, Steven couldn’t hear her. He couldn’t hear anything.

When the room came back, Steven’s ears noticed it like his eyes would a painting. His heart beat inside against Connie’s breasts. Her satisfied breaths in his ear were laden with gratitude. Curious wind swept over the window and the rocks outside, at just the right angle for that strange whistle. Static screens of the phone and the digital clock and the television mixed with the creaking of the bed and the shifting of the sheets and it was all so, so overwhelming as Steven came back to earth.

And then it was normal again. He ached down below, but that was the nature of the beast. Time would do that. Did Connie feel the same? As Steven opened his eyes and mouth, he realized that therein was another concern she had had: the ability to feel anything at all after the surgery. He should have gone slow, should have built it up - but no, Connie was almost laughing in his ear, sniffling and sighing. Steven unlatched his hand from his wife and tugged the hair out of his mouth.

“Did you…” he whispered.

“Twice.”

He forced himself to let go, but he rested his hands on top of Connie still. Steven stared up at the ceiling and let his legs unclench. Still inside her, he could feel the nuances of their bodies and the leaks around them. In moments, they would seep around the softness and down his groin and into the sheets. And what use was it all but for pleasure now?

Steven knew he was going to have to come back from this. To look into Connie’s eyes, to be able to enter her without feeling this strangeness, as if they could ever be disconnected, as if they could ever be apart during this - he needed help of his own. Connie would heal with him, and she was ready to start healing again. There would be times where they would have to cry together in the kitchen and rock each other into numbness. There would be moments where Steven would ache inside for the loss he had caused, feeling that guilt that soaked into his center of being and could never detach itself.

The man knew he would have to tear it away before it killed him. But with his wife, Steven knew the pain was shared. It could never be isolated to one of them. A child would have belonged to both of them, been made by both of them, grown up with both of them. The surgery was Connie’s burden, and the future was theirs. 

Steven closed his eyes again and breathed deeply. His lungs filled up, and his chest raised, and Connie raised with him. He relaxed and let her weight push the air back out. In and out, he rested for a minute. The embrace was tight enough to remind himself that her body was there, and living, and belonged to the person he loved most in the world. Connie lowered her head as much as she could to kiss the stubble on the edge of Steven’s jawline, and she left her lips there and smiled. The room was beginning to feel just warm enough.


End file.
